


a new direction

by steviewrites



Series: jatchen [1]
Category: Mean Girls - Richmond/Benjamin/Fey
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anxiety, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, F/F, Talent Shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-25 04:49:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21350506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviewrites/pseuds/steviewrites
Summary: gretchen gets a pep talk from an unexpected source before the talent show.
Relationships: Janis Sarkisian/Gretchen Wieners
Series: jatchen [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539154
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	a new direction

**Author's Note:**

> i missed these two! (also, i’ve got some cute holiday stories coming up next month that i can’t wait to share! ♡)

Gretchen can’t remember the last time she was _this _anxious.

She looks at her reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing herself. Her fluffy white dress and cardigan combo are starting to itch the hotter she gets, and her hair suddenly feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. Her faux rosy cheeks are sprinkled with glitter, dark eyes shining with insecurity behind her fake lashes, then with tears when the doubt truly starts to settle in her already spinning head.

_I can’t do this, _she thinks, shrugging off her cardigan in an attempt to cool off. The chattering people around her don’t seem to notice or care; it’s like she’s invisible, especially now that she isn’t trailing behind Regina. She’s going solo for the first time in her high school journey, and it just feels wrong.

She tenses up when Mr. Duvall begins speaking onstage to announce the next act, a group of sophomores performing “Silent Night.” They go marching past her, whispering to each other out of excitement rather than nervousness. Gretchen envies them.

The dressing room quiets then, leaving her mostly alone, aside from the few crew members who are minding their business. She’s going on after the next three acts, and the closer it gets the more she wants to ditch and find refuge in the closest pancake house. A buttery stack of pancakes sound like heaven right now.

Unfortunately, daydreaming about breakfast food only does so much, and she circles back to her default state of anxiety.

She’s fretfully applying another layer of glitter, this time dusting her hair with it in hopes the sparkle will distract the audience, when an unexpected presence sneaks up beside her.

“Careful, princess,” a low voice warns, equal parts amused and concerned. “You’re shaking so bad, you’re gonna spill it all over.”

“Oh, shoot—” And Gretchen does just that upon realizing just how hard she’s trying to keep her hands still. She sets the bottle down on the now glittery vanity and brushes the rest off her trembling hands. “Sorry, I’ll—I’ll clean it up later.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” the other girl responds, and Gretchen is surprised when she looks up to give her an apologetic smile. It’s Sarkisian, of all people, a headset around her neck and a walkie talkie in one hand. Gretchen forgot how Cady mentioned she had signed up for stage crew this year, as well as volunteered to help with all the decorations and art pieces that go into the hour and a half long talent show.

Looking at her now, Gretchen muses vaguely, without any scorn or judgement, how Sarkisian—Janis—is perfect for this. The backdrop onstage was painted and put together with Janis’s direction and expertise, and there’s impressive props in the corner of the dressing room that have yet to be used. That’s all because of her and whatever vision she had. Of course she’d also want to assist backstage, making sure at least one thing in this school goes smoothly.

Janis is a shadow, but shows her colors and light in ways other than being the one dancing and singing a piano version of holiday songs. And Gretchen admires her for it.

“You okay?” Janis asks, tilting her chin down to meet Gretchen’s eyes better, for Gretchen had slipped into a sort of anxiety-induced trance.

“Uh—yeah, yeah,” Gretchen mumbles, jerking back to herself, embarrassed.

There’s another pause as she attempts to busy herself with nothing in particular. Evidently Janis doesn’t believe her, because she walks around to the vanity to her left and sits down in the chair. Gretchen glances at her warily, unsure what to make of it.

When was the last time they so much as acknowledged each other in the hall? They’re not enemies by association anymore, but they aren’t friends, either. Janis so much as asking her if she’s okay is probably the nicest thing she’s ever done for Gretchen. After years of avoiding the Plastics to the best of her ability, Gretchen is just surprised Janis thought to check on her. But she supposes that just shows how Janis has grown, too.

Gretchen’s fluttery hands ultimately settle in her lap, and she chews her lip, anxiety doubling now that she’s being stared at.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous,” Janis remarks, but not unkindly.

Gretchen shrugs, trying to will her fingers to stop shaking. “I’ve never performed solo before. I’m scared people are gonna boo me off the stage.”

“They won’t,” Janis says encouragingly, and Gretchen peeks at her skeptically. “Really. You’re great. It’s a cute little number.”

When Gretchen appears confused, she adds, “I’ve been working backstage this entire time, ya know. I watched your rehearsal and stuff.”

“Oh.” Gretchen turns pink again. She hadn’t known Janis was in the wings during her prop and sound check last week.

“You don’t think it’s dumb?” she murmurs after a beat of silence, unsure why she suddenly needs validation from Janis of all people.

Then again, maybe comfort from the last person she expected is what she needs the most.

“No, I don’t,” Janis assures, shaking her head. “You have a beautiful voice. You do well on your own, too. I think this’ll finally show people that.”

Gretchen blinks quickly when her eyes start to sting. “But Regina isn’t here.”

Janis snorts. “You don’t need her. Trust me, you fucking don’t,” she insists, and Gretchen is startled by the sincerity. “You’re not meant to follow her around like a lost puppy your entire life. You guys aren’t even friends these days.”

Gretchen’s throat tightens at the reminder. She’s been battling mixed feelings about that all summer, and starting school without the familiarity and routine of being with Regina and Karen really threw her off. It’s been a rough first semester, sitting in lunch every day realizing she doesn’t belong anywhere now. Regina has her lacrosse team and Karen joined the band geeks after proving she’s awfully good at the flute. Gretchen is still finding her way, but isn’t sure which direction she should go.

She’s not even certain why she chose to perform in the talent show. She’s the only ex-Plastic left who’s doing it this year and the longer she sits back here the less she understands why.

“I just—I don’t know if I can do this without her,” she admits softly, hating how dependent she still is on someone she hasn’t texted since the first week of June.

“Yeah, you can,” Janis says soothingly, a hand on her elbow, and her fingers are warm, which Gretchen is ashamed to be surprised by. “You signed up and thought of the whole thing by yourself, didn’t you? You don’t need her permission. You don’t need to do it with her. You don’t need her at all. Once I accepted that, my life became mine again.”

Gretchen looks at her, equal parts guilty for encouraging Regina’s bad behavior and thankful for Janis’s wise words now. But then the guilt rises up in her throat, choking her, and she asks brokenly, “How can you be so nice to me right now?”

Hand still on Gretchen’s elbow, Janis takes a second before replying, a tad awkwardly, but genuine nonetheless, “Because it’s what I needed years ago after I lost a friend in her, too.”

Gretchen swipes at her eyes, not wanting to completely ruin her makeup. At a loss for words, she doesn’t know what to say to that, afraid of somehow blurting out the wrong thing. She has a tendency to do that. According to Regina, it screws everything up.

“You’re okay,” Janis is telling her gently. “You’re gonna do great. She’s not even here. All you gotta do is go out there and sing for two minutes. Everybody’s gonna talk about how cool it was, and she’s gonna regret not seeing it. But you know what?”

She waits for Gretchen to make eye contact again to say, “She doesn’t deserve to. After how she used you and treated you, it’s a good thing she’s not here. She shouldn’t get to see you kill it. She just needs to know you didn’t need _her_ to do it.”

_You don’t need her, _is all that keeps replaying in Gretchen’s head. She nods her understanding, exhaling the ice that’s been burning in her chest all day. _I don’t need her, _she corrects herself, and in her heart she knows it’s true.

The last two acts have come and gone in the duration of their conversation, and Gretchen hopes Janis won’t get in trouble for slacking on the job. The dressing room is soon filled with noise again when people begin to file off the stage, and Janis removes her hand almost self-consciously.

Gretchen doesn’t take it personally for once, but it does make her a little sad. Both because it means Janis’s instinct is to expect people to bully her and because Gretchen kind of liked having her hand on her arm. She’s not sure why.

Janis and Gretchen share an exasperated look when Mr. Duvall announces Kevin G. is on next, then dissolve into laughter. They get a few curious looks from the kids around them, but it doesn’t bother them. It’s like they’ve been enclosed in their own bubble.

“You got this, okay?” Janis says when she stands, after her walkie talkie crackles asking her to come back.

Gretchen nods, still nervous but trying to take Janis’s support to heart. She musters a smile, a real genuine smile, up at Janis. “Um, thanks,” she says meekly, but hopes Janis knows she means it. “Thank you, Janis.”

Janis grins back and pats her shoulder. “No prob. See ya, princess.”

Gretchen watches her stalk off, tall frame melting into the shadows again, and breathes out.

_I can do this, _she thinks firmly, donning her cardigan. She gets to her feet with purpose and goes to wait at one end of the stage, knowing if she’s terrible, at least it won’t be as bad as Kevin G.

And then it’s her turn, and her stomach twists at the sound of her own name, and someone is handing her a microphone, and she’s forcing her legs to carry her up to the stage, and when she’s under the spotlight something compels her to glance back. Janis is there, and gives her a thumbs up and a dorky smile.

Gretchen smiles back, taking the confidence she needs from that gesture alone.

As the music accompanies her voice—melodic and sweet, how she’s practiced and practiced for it to become—and faux snowflakes cascade around her from above, she finds solace in the empty space around her, for there isn’t Regina to hog all the attention, or discreetly shove her out of place to humiliate her. It’s just Gretchen, and the music, and the snowflakes. And people seem to enjoy it, pleasantly surprised that Gretchen Wieners can do something on her own, and do it well.

When it’s over, she is hit by a tsunami of relief and pride, and curtsies for the cheering audience. A tiny part of her—for she’s still getting there—thinks she deserves it.

She blows a kiss to her parents in the front row, then makes her dainty exit. But as soon as she sees Janis again, she hurries down the steps and throws her arms around her neck. Janis is caught off guard, stumbling slightly with the force of Gretchen’s embrace, but returns it cautiously, patting her back.

“Hi,” she says into her fluffy shoulder, and from her voice Gretchen knows she’s smiling. “You did good.”

“Thank you!” Gretchen squeals, hopping a little. “Oh, thank you, thank you, I’m so happy it’s over, but I did it!”

“Yes, you did,” Janis laughs as Gretchen wills herself to pull away, now grasping Janis’s elbows, still hopping. “Told you so.”

“Mhm.” Gretchen nods, breathless and giggly and exhilarated. “Thank you so much.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Janis says modestly. “That was all you. Truly, it was.”

“Yeah, but you helped,” Gretchen insists with gratitude, the adrenaline rush pumping fast and making her mind think all sorts of things.

Such as _Wow, she’s really pretty _and _Her jacket is soft _and _She gives good hugs._

And she’s so high up on cloud nine those musings don’t have the power to frighten her.

Something inside her shifts, having been tilted out of place while she was onstage, now slipping into a new position as she stands here with Janis. Like a shattered compass with a needle that miraculously still works, finding a new direction to point in.

“Thank you,” she says again, quieter, and Janis smiles timidly. She nods once, like she’s a bit embarrassed to be appreciated so deeply. Gretchen rises on her toes to peck her cheek, and their fingertips brush when she has to back away, and her whole body is tingling and crackling and bursting with joy and whatever this new feeling is as she jogs to meet her parents on the other side of the room.

* * *

Janis drifts down the hallway Monday morning, still caught in the dreamlike state she’s been in since she got home Friday night. She attributes it to just crashing from how hard she worked for a month straight, both in regards to homework and putting together the talent show. It definitely does not have anything to do with Gretchen Wieners.

But she catches herself smiling when she remembers that random parting cheek kiss.

It didn’t mean anything to Gretchen, just a way of showing how thankful she was for what Janis did. Which Janis doesn’t believe was very much, just a pep talk and a hug.

As she predicted, people are talking about the show, Gretchen’s cute performance in particular. She grins as she enters history, hoping Gretchen hears the nice things people are saying about her, too.

Halfway through, the door is thrust open by Damian—no, Santa Clause—and his little elf who looks suspiciously like Cady in a stripy green and red costume. Janis rolls her eyes, hiding her mouth behind her hand so they won’t see her laughing at them.

They interrupt the lesson to pass out candy cane grams, and at first Janis doesn’t think anything of it—until Cady drifts to the back of the class and holds one out to her, exclaiming cheerfully, “Janis Sarkisian, one for you!”

“Huh?” Janis blinks at the candy cane, feeling like this is Cady and Damian’s version of a holiday prank. Cady just beams and slides it across the desk to her, then winks dramatically prior to flouncing away. She tosses a handful of glitter into the air before following Damian out of the room, leaving sparkles and candy cane grams in their very merry wake. Janis’s teacher is nothing short of annoyed.

The lesson resumes regardless, but Janis is distracted by the gift on her desk. She picks it up like it’s a bomb set to detonate, cringing nervously as she opens the note attached to it.

But then she’s smiling again upon seeing the phone number written inside—signed by a heart, with “G.W.” next to it.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are fetch ♡
>
>> **find me:**   
[twitter](https://twitter.com/wantingmylove)   
[tumblr](https://cadyjanis.tumblr.com)


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